


Gathering Serenity

by regardingseas



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: (They're Different), (trust me), ADHD, AKA Dysthymia, AKA Pathological Lying, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Hospital, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Angst, Anxiety, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder, Autism, Autism Spectrum Disorder, Autistic Logic | Logan Sanders, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Type 1, Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Bulimia, Bulimia Nervosa, Caffeine Addiction, Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - C–PTSD, Conversion Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, Forgot A Few Tags, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Hospitalization, Human Sides (Sanders Sides), Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insomnia, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Major Depressive Disorder, Mania, Mental Health Awareness Writing Challenge, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Obsessive Compulsive Personality Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Persistent Depressive Disorder, Personality Disorders, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pseudoseizures, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Separation Anxiety, Seriously Though Read The TWs, Social Anxiety, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, TW: Suicide Mention In Summary As Well, That's A Lot To Unpack, Therapist Dr. Emile Picani, histrionic personality disorder, pseudologia fantastica, psychiatric hospital
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25796623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regardingseas/pseuds/regardingseas
Summary: Serenity's Psychiatric Hospital is a small, LGBTQ+ inpatient unit for struggling members of the queer community. It welcomes patients ages eighteen to thirty-five into its facility, aiming to aid those during the ever-troubling transitional years of life.Virgil has just been admitted after a failed attempt, and begins a new journey down the path of recovery alongside the other patients. Patton, Roman, Logan, Remus, Janus, and Remy become his new company, and they all prove to have very different personalities. Ranging from bubbly, to charismatic, to rigid and abrasive, who will get along? And who will finally discover the next chapter of their story, fighting for their passion in life?With the support from friends the passionate psychiatrist Dr. Emile Picani, anything is possible! Maybe even a shot at happiness.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Dr. Emile Picani/Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, None yet but these may show up in the future
Comments: 6
Kudos: 59





	Gathering Serenity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: All illnesses listed below and in the tags, as well as referenced self-harm, suicide attempts, break-ups, unhealthy past relationships, mentioned childhood abuse, gruesome speech and ideas, prescription medication, other possible drugs, panic attacks, flashbacks, and other dark subjects. If this story continues, it's likely to get rather intense, as it is tackling some serious mental conditions. Reader digression is advised. That aside, I hope you enjoy regardless. I researched the topics intently. Please let me know if additional warnings are needed, or if changes to characters are necessary for the sake of accuracy. Thank you!
> 
>   
> -Character Information-
> 
> Roman Kingsley:  
> -Histrionic personality disorder (HPD)  
> -Major depressive disorder (MDD)
> 
> Logan Crofters:  
> -Obsessive compulsive personality disorder (OCPD [not OCD])  
> -Major depressive disorder (MDD)  
> -Autism spectrum disorder (ASD)  
> -Alexithymia (although technically considered a trait and not a disorder, many mental health professionals still believe it should be recognized as an official condition)
> 
> Virgil Storm:  
> -Generalized anxiety disorder (GAD)  
> -Post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD)  
> -Major depressive disorder (MDD)
> 
> Patton Hart:  
> -Separation anxiety disorder (SAD)  
> -Persistent depressive disorder (AKA Dysthymia, PDD)  
> -Conversion disorder (CD)  
> -Pseudoseizures (AKA psychogenic non-epileptic seizures, PNES)
> 
> Janus Coatl:  
> -Pseudologia fantastica (AKA Mythomania, or Pathological lying)  
> -Complex post traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD)
> 
> Remus Kingsley:  
> -Histrionic personality disorder (HPD)  
> -Obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD, causing severe intrusive thoughts)  
> -Bipolar 1 disorder (BP 1)
> 
> Remy Nightingale:  
> -Severe chronic insomnia  
> -Caffeine dependence  
> -Bulimia nervosa (BN)  
> -Body dysmorphic disorder (BDD)
> 
> Emile Picani:  
> -Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD)  
> 
> 
> This story is for fun, but also to raise awareness, especially for the more unknown conditions! :)

Virgil felt like a complete and utter failure.

Sure, he was feeling a whole lot of things, but that was one of the strongest sensations gnawing away at his gut. His chest was tight, and he was in one of the last places he ever wanted to be. He was sure he could imagine much worse if he tried, but was doing his best to avoid such a thing.

Before him stood a decently sized white building, though it was still smaller than he'd expected. At the same time, however, it was nicer, too. Virgil had half convinced himself he'd be tossed into some kind of prison-- a hellish concrete box with barred windows and sharp, metal fencing. But instead, he was met with a fresh looking hospital, clean and coated with bright paint. Brick pillars made up the center's accent pieces, as did silver medical symbols and welcoming blue signs.

_Serenity's Psychiatric Hospital,_ they read, and Virgil couldn't help but roll his eyes at the name. As if he could ever be serene with life in a place like this. 

He was led inside by two other men, walking through a series of glass doors that were covered in stickers Virgil didn't have the time or energy to try and make out. Passing those by, they reached the front desk, where they were greeted by a polite receptionist. She was an older woman, with short blonde hair and kind eyes who checked them in with surprising haste. It was likely only due to the fact that Virgil's name had already been entered into the system before he arrived, but he was still glad to get it over with nonetheless.

The woman's desk was an organized mess, cluttered with little knick-knacks and decorations, such as a pencil holder filled with pens and little pride flags, and a framed picture of her, her wife, and daughter. Despite all of his anxieties, Virgil knew that he could at least rest easy knowing that the clinic would accept his orientation. He'd feared that the only pace with open beds would be some extremist religious facility that would consider him a sinner, but that proved not to be the case when he was accepted into a small LGBTQ+ inpatient unit just out of town.

"Alright, Virgil," the receptionist said with a warm smile, "we can finish checking you in in the next room. You'll have to answer some questions, can you do that?"

Virgil nodded, aware she was likely just being courteous, but feeling patronized regardless. He didn't want to be treated like he was made of glass, or watch those around him walk on eggshells trying to keep him calm. Helpful or not, he always found it bitterly condescending, "Yeah, no problem."

The woman smiled and led him through a door, finally allowing him to depart from the officers that had forcibly accompanied him to the facility. Virgil was thankful to be away from them, as he could feel their judgmental glances making his hair stand on end. They must have thought he was pathetic, he could just feel it.

Away from the critical officers, Virgil was sat down to sign papers and open up about his situation all over again. It was intrusive, and he was eager to get it over with. The longer he was stuck answering the revealing inquiries, the worse his heart raced, and the more his mind began to go fuzzy. Shakily, he pulled his jacket closer, knowing it would soon be taken along with the rest of his items, and thoroughly searched before it could be returned to him. They'd already taken his hoodie strings back at the emergency department-- as if those were strong enough to use as a noose anyway. It was stupid, and he missed being able to tug them close and curl in on himself.

The woman looked up to him after going over the basic questions, "So… I see you were committed here because of a recent suicide attempt?"

Virgil paused, squeezing his sleeves in his hands, fingers curling around the frayed fabric as it pressed into his palms. He supposed he had wanted them to stop being so painstakingly conscientious, but _this_ was still a bit more blunt than he'd hoped.

Even so, he nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's right," he confirmed.

"Can you tell me what led to that?" the woman asked.

His body swam through pins and needles, and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip. There was an increasing urge not to speak, the thought of doing so sending waves of those sharp little weapons crashing onto him. He couldn't talk about it-- shouldn't. Even if he needed to say something, he had to stay silent. He had to shut up about it. _Shut up, shut up, shut up-_

"...My depression has been on a downward spiral for a while," he managed through the frantic pleas of his mind. "It was just... too unbearable, I guess. I'm so on edge all the time, and I'm just- I'm just waiting for something awful to happen again. I've been so anxious, and it feels like every little thing is a trigger for me. No matter how much I tried to avoid it, even if I don't step foot out of my house, the memories keep coming back. And the exhausting feeling that I'll just… never escape it. It's always there, and I guess I just- It makes me feel- _fuck,_ I just can't do it anymore..." Virgil pressed a shaky hand over his mouth, hiding his lips that had begun to quiver. All he could do was look down, staring at the floor with his faded purple hair falling to conceal the tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Virgil… Listen, I see that you have PTSD, do you think you could explain to me the event that caused that?"

"I-" Virgil tried, body feeling hot-- burning. There was a pounding stitch in his side, and he had to suppress the unsteadiness rising up into his breathing.

"If you can't answer, that's okay."

He nodded vigorously, "Okay. Can we- can we please move on then?"

The woman returned his nod, and moved forward past the rest of the more difficult questions. Much to Virgil's relief, the interview ended soon after, and another employee took him down the winding halls. He hugged himself as they walked, trying to relax as his eyes darted around. All of the walls were white, as were the floors and trim boards. It felt stereotypical, taken straight out of a film, but he assumed it was only for sanitary proposes; so that any grime could be spotted against the pristine décor. Breaking up the white clichés, however, were doors painted different shades of colour, and motivational posters and drawings plastered over the drywall.

Virgil and the employee eventually reached a changing room, where he went through the very uncomfortable process of disrobing behind a curtain. Stress ran through his veins as he slipped off his clothes, letting it fall to the tile beneath him. Switching into the light grey sweatshirt and pants wasn't a major problem, nor was giving up his normal clothing or trading in his shoes for a pair of pale blue, grippy socks that made the tile harder to slip on.

His jacket, however, was another story entirely. He clutched it to his chest, and hid his face in the familiar smelling cloth. He'd just barely gotten it back for the previous hospital staff, and the last thing he wanted to do was to give it up again. It had been his comfort object for as long as he could remember, and could provide a sense of relief even in his worst times. Everyone was surprised it still calmed him down after finding out he'd been wearing it during the incident, figuring that he'd want to distance himself from anything and everything related to the event. That was true, for the most part, but his jacket was always the exception. If anything, he felt as if he needed it more than ever afterwards.

"Are you okay in there?" the employee --whose name Virgil didn't currently have the heart to remember-- asked him.

"Y-yeah…" he choked, clutching his coat tighter as if he could absorb its comforts permanently if he squeezed hard enough.

The man peered past the curtain to check on Virgil, seeing the purple haired boy standing shakily with his back against the tile, gripping onto a patched up jacket as if his life depended on it.

"That looks like it means a lot to you," he said, deducting the matter easily by seeing how apprehensive the other was in leaving it behind.

Silently, Virgil nodded.

"I'll tell you what. Let me search it, and as long as I don't find anything, you can have it back for now. Just the jacket, though. I still need to send the rest to be washed and looked through by the others."

"Sh-" he cleared his throat, "Sure, please."

Virgil, albeit with some remaining hesitance, handed over his jacket, and the man searched it just as he'd said he would. He made sure the pockets were empty, checked the hemming of the hood to ensure the drawstring hadn't just been pushed in, and thumbed over each seam to feel for hidden blades shoved into the fabric. It was protocol for good reason, considering Virgil had debated doing exactly that before he was hauled off. Luckily for him, however, he'd decided better of it, so there was nothing of substance to find. Some lint or discarded thread he'd torn off, sure-- maybe even a gum wrapper if he was feeling wild, but nothing dangerous.

The employee held the jacket out after his inspection, flashing a smile and allowing Virgil to pull the coat over his grey sweatshirt.

"Thank you…"

He nodded and waved Virgil forward, "Come on, I'll take you to your ward now. You'll meet your physiatrist there, his name is Dr. Picani. He's very nice, I think you'll get along."

Arms wrapped around himself once more, Virgil trudged alongside the employee until they reached the male patients' side of the facility. He bid the nameless staff member adieu as he passed through a door, leaving him stuck with yet another stranger as the man used a keycard to lock the door behind Virgil. Yet another basic, stupid thing that made him feel all broken up inside.

"Hello Virgil, I'm Dr. Emile Picani, it's nice to meet you," said the grinning brunet in a tan sweater vest and rainbow tie, but he was difficult to focus on.

Virgil couldn't help but stare at the small, blinking light on the electrical lock. It flashed red, as if mocking the danger he felt, voicelessly screaming that he was trapped and couldn't leave if he tried.

"Virgil?" Emile repeated.

He forced his attention back over to the new man, raising his brows and making a small _hm?_ of acknowledgement.

"Are you okay?"

"Oh- yeah, yeah. I'm fine. Just seeing the dumb door lock, is like- it's stupid, don't worry."

Emile returned the smile to his face, though it was more sympathetic than just welcoming, "Hey, don't sweat it. If it bothers you, then it isn't stupid."

"I guess. But um, yeah, it's nice to meet you too," he subverted, though it wasn't exactly true. Emile seemed nice enough-- everyone did so far, but Virgil still wished he could be anywhere else.

Emile chuckled softly, "It's okay, no need to pretend. You have the right to be upset."

Virgil glanced to the side.

"How about I show you to your room? Would that be okay? You could be alone for a while before having to interact with the others."

Alone time. That sounded _amazing_ right now. He'd had a one on one for nearly a week now-- someone with their eyes on him at all times, never having a space truly to himself. It was overwhelming and invasive, he wasn't even allowed to shower or use the bathroom without someone on standby, and that made his skin crawl.

"No 1:1..?" he asked nervously, afraid that if he mentioned it, he'd be stuck with someone constantly over his shoulder again.

Emile nodded, "Your notes say you didn't have any risky behavior while being observed at the hospital, so as long as you promise not to hurt yourself in your room, we can let you stay in there alone for now. We'll still have someone checking on you, of course, and if you do cause any harm, we'll have to have someone watching you again."

For the first time since arriving, Virgil found himself sighing in relief. "Yeah- okay, I can do that. I promise."

_As long as you don't have a panic attack and scratch yourself raw, it should be fine._

"Perfect," grinned Emile, "right this way."

Heading down yet another sparsely decorated white corridor, Virgil was shown to the room that would now be his for some unknown duration of time. Much like the doors in the hallway prior, each entrance was painted a different colour. His was a deep purple, much like the patches sewn about his jacket. The other doors held similar colouring, each one bearing a whiteboard that had been decorated by its occupant.

A light blue door with little hearts all over the board. 

A dark blue door with a long message written in such small text that Virgil couldn't make out from his distance. 

A royal red door with a board so stained from old doodles, it was almost hard to make out the castle so elaborately drawn onto it.

A bright green door with a somehow even messier board, and a large, encompassing octopus drawn in negative space.

A honey yellow door, whose owner seemed inspired by the negative space idea, and also filled his entire board in black before etching out a cartoon-ish snake.

A plain grey door, with a picture of a coffee cup and some Zzz's.

And a vibrant orange door all the way at the end, whiteboard void of any design, much like Virgil's own.

He supposed the space hadn't been filled yet.

"Here we are," said Emile, using a key to unlock Virgil's door.

Virgil tensed as he glanced over the key, hating the idea of being shut in one small room even more than being locked in the facility alone.

"Don't worry, it always opens from the inside. It only locks from out here for security measures, that way no other patient could get in if you didn't want them to."

Now for the second time, he was able to sign in relief, and Emile let him into the room. It was small, as he expected, with nothing but a single sized bed and a desk with a chair. There was a window across the room, however, allowing him to view into the outside world. It was made with two panes thick panes of glass, the blinds built right in between, so that the only way to close and open them was with a small knob at the bottom of the window. In a similarly safe-proof fashion, the lights were built flat into the ceiling, so that nothing could possibly be tied to them.

"The bathrooms are down the hall, but you can use them whenever. Don't be afraid to come out at night, either. They're open any time for most things, except for showers, because we have a schedule for those," Emile explained.

"Okay…" Virgil acknowledged nervously, not taking well to the idea of having to walk past everyone each time he had to use the restroom. It was like high school all over again, and he didn't have the time for another layer of anxiety to be thrown over his already crushing pile of fears.

"Let me know if you need anything, okay? You arrived after lunch, which is at 12, but we can bring you something if you'd like."

"I really couldn't eat right now..." he admitted, stomach like a pit filled with stones.

Emile nodded in understanding, "Okay. Well, dinner is at 6pm, and lights out is at 10pm. We usually wake you all up at 8am, but it's 9am on weekends. Your personal therapy sessions will be scheduled soon, but we also have Group every Monday and Thursday and 2, which means it's happening today. We'd really like you to be there, we'd be taking everything easy and mainly doing introductions."

The influx of information hit Virgil like a bus, and he found himself blinking his eyes quickly and taking a small step backwards. He definitely wasn't going to remember all of that, and fuck, it was going to take forever to get used to everything. Such a hyper-organized sleep schedule never worked for him in the slightest, no matter how hard he tried. If his constant eye bags didn't speak for themselves, he may have just explained how he always found himself tossing and turning half the night. Not to mention, did he really have the emotional stability to deal with a group of people right now?

No. The answer was absolutely, most definitely, no.

But the thought of trying to _argue_ with a medical professional..?

"I'll be there…" he said.

"Great," Emile replied, "I'll come get you in an hour. Just try and settle in, okay?"

Virgil nodded, and the psychiatrist left him in his new room, allowing the weighted door to close slowly after him. Virgil breathed deeply and stumbled over to the bed, plopping himself down and hiding his face in his pillow with his arms draped over his head.

_How was he possibly going to handle this place?_

* * *

All too soon, Emile had returned to take Virgil to Group, and he swore that an hour couldn't have passed already, because _god he just wanted some time alone._

Even so, he stuck to his word and pushed himself out of the shockingly comfortable bed. He wanted to sink into the mattress and never come back up, but instead, he followed begrudgingly as Emile led him to the commons. There, aside from some staff, he spotted six other patients being seated around a circle of chairs. He supposed he was the last one to head out, which, of course, was just great. Because that _totally_ didn't mean they would be more likely to stare at him _at all._ However, to Virgil's surprise, they didn't actually pay him too much mind. They looked like a relatively normal bunch-- if normal could be a relative term for a bunch of people suffering from mental discrepancies.

However, some did stand out more than the others, such as a tan skinned boy with curly black hair and a prominate birthmark masking half of his face. He sat backwards in his metal folding chair, heterochromatic eyes gazing around and sizing up the newcomer the same way Virgil was studying him. One brown, the other a bright hazel that could almost read as yellow under the right lighting.

There were also two men who looked almost alarmingly similar. They had to be twins, if not at least related in some way, Virgil thought. Both had stunning, emerald green eyes and clear tan skin, though one of them donned some handlebar moustache that looked like it belonged on some old supervillain, as well as a clump of white in his otherwise brunet hair. The moustached man spotted Virgil and grinned sarcastically before going back to picking at his nails, but his doppelgänger of sorts gave a much more genuine smile, waving dramatically to Virgil as if he were greeting a close friend after having been apart for months. Rather or not he was just trying to be polite, Virgil felt anxiety bubble up in his stomach. _Why is he paying so much attention to you? Does he recognize you? Does he want something from you?_ Virgil shook his head to push away the thoughts.

The next man looked disinterested as the others talked amongst themselves, seeming more keen on listening in rather than actually joining in on the conversion. His brown hair was styled into place, and he wore a simple pair of rectangular glasses, perched precisely on his nose.

The fifth man was slouching in his chair, with hair untamed and dark bags under his closed eyes. He wore a pair of shades, of which had slipped down his nose and left his exhausted appearance more noticeable. He cracked his eyes back open when he heard the creaking of a chair signaling Emile sitting down, and pushed his sunglasses back into place.

Last of all, there was a man with curly hair like the first, though his was blond instead of ebony. He wore a pair of large, round rimmed glasses, framing his bright blue eyes and making him look younger than he likely was. His hands trembled and twitched even though he seemed rather content, and he held the sleeves of the jacket tied around his shoulders to keep them steadier. The chair next to him was the only one available, so Virgil summoned the courage to plant himself in the seat. The man smiled, and Virgil managed a small wave before looking down, guilt prodding at him for not doing more.

"Welcome to Group, everyone," said Emile, "We have a new patient with us here today, so we'll be going over our introductions again. We'll say our names, how old we are, what we're here for, and to keep things more positive, we'll also share a recent success, or something we're proud of."

Virgil listened, trying to force his mind to hone in and not allow his panic to let him check out. Each word Emile spoke, he repeated in his head, running them over in his mind so that he may process them as he fought off dissociation.

"I know it can be hard to talk about these things, especially when you have to be the first to start. So how about I begin instead?" Emile asked, though it was clearly hypothetical. 

Tugging at a loose string of his sweatshirt, Virgil was just glad he didn't have to go first.

"I'm Dr. Emile Picani, one of the psychiatrists here at Serenity's Psychiatric Hospital. I'm 33 years old, and a success for me is that I was just promoted last week!" he smiled proudly. "And I know this may seem less significant in comparison to everything you must be feeling, but we're supposed to be sharing with each other. So, I let you know that I personally have ADHD, and my biggest hyperfixation is cartoons. I like using them and their lessons in my sessions. I feel it helps people connect on a nice baseline level, and that's a great thing to build on. Besides, they have some pretty great morals in there. There's a character everyone can relate to, which can really help you reflect interpersonally, and feel more understood."

Virgil assessed everyone again as the man spoke, observing their stances and where their attention fell. The boy with round glasses listened intently, though it seemed as if he'd heard the introduction a few times, Virgil assumed he was trying to be polite. Next to him was the birthmark stained boy, who looked disinterred and maybe even annoyed. The typically spectacled boy beside him sat tall and all too formally, but had a distant look in his eyes, as if he were pretending to pay more attention than he really cared to. Then was the exhausted one, who seemed, well- exhausted, more than anything, if not a bit charmed by the grinning psychiatrist. The boy with the white in his hair sat cross-legged in his chair and allowed himself to tilt side to side slowly out of boredom. He was clearly aware of the situation, simply opting to not to focus on it, --Virgil wished he could do such a thing. Lastly, there was the boy that Virgil could only assume was moustache's brother, who was the only one to notice Virgil's observation, cracking a smile and waving again in response.

Anxiously, his head shot back down, gaze trained on his lap.

"Who wants to go next?" Emile asked kindly, a real inquiry this time around.

"I can!" an accented voice announced, Virgil believing it to belong to the strangely welcoming brunet. And upon glancing up again, he found that guess to be correct.

"My name is Roman Kingsley," he continued, "I'm 22, and I'm here for my HPD and depression. Things got really bad after my boyfriend broke things off, which is really what landed me here. Apparently, we'd been growing apart for quite a while, and I was far 'too much', as he put it, and-" Roman, as his name was said to be, seemed to catch himself falling too far into depth, and cleared his throat to subvert.

"Sorry," he chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "But that's what I'm here for, right? Um, anyway, an achievement for me is that I caught myself just then, and I finished the draft for a sort of screenplay I've been working on. I wrote it all down inside my notebook, which admittedly takes much longer than expected when you're not able to type. But oh well, I'm happy with it so far."

"That's great, Roman," said Emile, smiling and gesturing to the man's left. "Remus, why don't you go next, and we'll move around the circle that way?"

Remus rolled his eyes and leaned forward, "Way to go and spoil my name. I had the new guy wondering."

Virgil's heart picked up slightly at his mention, though a faint smirk still managed to find its way into his face at the humor.

"Oops, sorry!"

Remus shrugged and waved the man off, "Uh-huh. Anyway, my name is Remus Kingsley, and yes, the doofus-"

"Please no name calling."

"-next to me is my twin. In case your eyes are broken, and you couldn't tell. Which means I'm also 22, and because of our screwy genetics and upbringings, we both ended up with HPD. But I'm also here for Bipolar Disorder. Type one, the best one, it's a bitch, and then my batshit intrusive thoughts, too. Which I guess stem from OCD, but that doesn't really matter. I'm only stuck in this place because I freaked everyone else out. And that's on a court ordered asylum sentence!" He punched the air, and Virgil would be lying if he said he wasn't shocked.

Emile, on the other hand, didn't seem surprised, though he did seem to regret his decision to have Remus be the second to speak.

"You aren't in an asylum, this is an inpatient psychiatric treatment center," normal-glasses guy said, Emile nodding in agreement.

"Yes- and I'm sorry about that. Why don't we move on?"

Remus looked disappointed at being unable to share further, but the next in line sat up from his slouched position.

"I guess that's my cue," the tired man chimed in, "Remy Nightingale's the name, producing's the game. Or… was, at least? Now I'm here, for chronic insomnia. Which, like, totally sucks by the way. Especially without my caffeine, I legitimately feel like I'm going crazy," he sighed. "Oh, um, I'm 30, and I'm also here for an eating disorder; dysmorphia and bulimia. A success for me is… I almost fell asleep last night. I think? Fuck, sorry babes, I'm too out of it for Group today, I could hardly drag myself here."

"That's okay, thank you for trying. You can be excused now if you think you can get some rest," Emile said sympathetically, to which Remy only laughed.

"Nah, hon. Just don't make me talk anymore."

Emile nodded and flashed a smile before gesturing to the next patient, signaling his turn to speak.

"Hello, my name is Logan Crofters," he said, adjusting his glasses. "I am 21 years old, and I have been committed to this facility due to my Major depressive disorder and Obsessive compulsive personality disorder, of which interfered too greatly with my daily life for it to continue without interface. I also have Autism spectrum disorder, which although is technically a neurodevelopmental condition and not a mental illness, it has high comorbidity with my aforementioned diagnoses, and therefore plays a role in why I've come here."

Virgil blinked, once more finding himself taken back, but for the exact opposite reason of the time prior. Unlike Remus who seemed wild, Logan may well have been the most formal mannered man he'd ever met. One could probably balance a book on how level he presented himself to be. Virgil couldn't help but wonder how much of that was an act, and how much of it was truly ingrained into his being.

"And a success for you?" Emile asked.

"Oh, of course. I am not going to beat myself up over initially forgetting to mention an achievement," he said in a way Virgil found unconvincing.

The psychiatrist let out a small chuckle, "Well, I certainly hope not. Thank you very much, Logan. But I promise you, no one else is worried about you forgetting. Now, let's keep going."

The blond man with curly hair and circular frames took a deep breath, smiling kindly and glancing to Virgil as he spoke. "Well, it's nice to meet you. My name is Patton, I'm 23 and I'm here to get treatment for my depression, conversion disorder, and separation anxiety. I guess that last one is kind of funny, since I had to leave everyone to come here," he chuckled, "but that it itself is like exposure therapy, right? Anyways, a success for me is that I haven't had a pseudoseizure --oh, that's something caused by the conversion disorder-- in two weeks now!"

Virgil wasn't sure he understood what that meant, but he grinned a bit towards the man anyway, nodding his head approvingly. Patton seemed rather nice, after all. Warm, welcoming, approachable-- it allowed Virgil some level of comfort. _Hopefully he isn't faking that nice persona to trick you._

"I saw that on your charts! That's amazing, Patton. I'm so glad to hear it," said Emile, and the other man beamed brightly.

"Thank you so much!"

Emile nodded, and turned to face the birthmarked man beside Virgil. "Why don't you go ahead now?"

The boy next to him looked up, and Virgil could feel his chest growing tighter. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, he has to talk after this guy._ Why did he have to speak? Could he just pass? No, that would make them judge him more. They'd think he was a coward. _You are_ , he thought to himself, _you can't even bring himself to say you're afraid._

_Can't say that._

_Can't be afraid._

_Be strong._

_Can't know. Can't know. They can't, they can't, they-_

His thoughts were cut short by the man beside him adjusting his hair, causing its metal to creak and snap Virgil back to some sense of reality.

"I'm Janus Coatl," he said "21. Here for pathological lying and C-PTSD. No, I didn't _stutter_ , it isn't the same as your typical post traumatic stress disorder. I admitted myself because I needed the help. My success is that I'm speaking truthfully, and that I actually told you who I am," he looked towards Virgil, "thanks for not _laughing about it_."

Virgil pressed himself further against his seat in confusion, knowing there must be context behind Janus's comment that he was unaware of. But he couldn't bother to worry about that, as the panic was seizing him again, and his mouth went dry from his turn arriving. Realistically, be knew he merely looked nervous, which few would judge in such a place. But to Virgil, he may as well have been sweating buckets, just some real freak show to ogle. It was like there were a million spotlights all beaming down directly onto him. Their heat made his skin sting, and their hypothetical fluorescent buzzing became an all to real ringing in his ears.

"Um, I-" he fumbled his hands and words, heart feeling like it had simultaneously fallen to his stomach and crawled up into his throat to choke him all at the same time.

"Are you okay?" Emile asked, and Virgil nodded desperately.

_He has to be okay, he couldn't freak out in front of everyone._

Slowly, Virgil managed to take calming breaths, doing his best to build mental walls around the eyes that bore burning holes into his form. Imagining an impenetrable structure of one-way glass, where he could see out, but no one ever could see in, he was able to force himself to get through his introduction.

"Sorry, um, I'm okay. I'm- my name is Virgil? Virgil Storm. I'm 20, I'm here for my anxiety disorders, which is probably pretty obvious. And- well, also depression, and PTSD. The normal one."

Janus smirked in amusement at the joke Virgil managed to throw in, seeming secretly appreciative that his explanation hadn't gone unnoticed by the hands of the newcomer.

"Virgil's a cool name," said Patton, metaphorically dancing around the jumbled mess of fear that was the rest of Virgil's little speech. For once, he appreciated it.

"Oh, thanks. Patton- that's nice, too. Never met someone named that before."

"Thank you," Patton smiled, "So what's a recent success for you, Virgil?"

"Oh, well-" he tried, though his words failed him when he couldn't fathom any ideas.

_Certainly not your attempt, that's for sure._

Virgil let out a small cough, surprised by the abruptness of thought, yet also nearly having to stifle a snicker at the twisted line of dialogue conjured by his illness. Was it too soon to find the humor in that? He wasn't sure.

"Well, I'm here now, right? I've got a chance to improve on things, and that's good…" he said, really just bullshitting some basic excuse to get the attention off him.

Luckily, they all seemed to eat it up. That, or they simply understood what he was experiencing, and wanted to cut the poor new guy some slack. After some consideration, Virgil realized it was most likely the ladder.

After a few more rounds of questions --of which seemed to take forever-- Group finally disbanded, and everyone was told to go about enjoying their time in the Rec room. Virgil was left scanning the area again slowly, high-strung and uncomfortable with his head aching from constant stress reverberating around inside. He was overwhelmed, tired, and wanted more than anything to just shut himself away from everyone. But the theatrical brunet --Roman, as it was, approached before he could inquire about returning to his room.

"Hey there, Virge!" he said, holding out a hand.

Virgil eyed him for a moment before reaching out and shaking the man's hand. _Wasn't it a little early for a nickname? Maybe? Probably? Yes, but you don't just point out that kind of thing._ He knew how embarrassed he'd be if someone immediately corrected his greeting, so he opted to roll with it instead, "Hi, Roman."

"It's wonderful to meet you. It's been a while since we've seen a new face around here, but you seem like a rather interesting character!"

He chuckled awkwardly, "Nah, I- I wouldn't say that."

Roman smiled, "Well, I have a flawless 'fascinating person' radar, and you certainly have its readings going off the charts."

Again, a small laugh broke from Virgil's throat, and he raised an eyebrow at the man before him. "You're definitely an interesting one, too..."

_This was, in fact, going to be very interesting indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you would like me to continue this! If people think I should, I may well add more. I could even base future chapters around different characters if that's what's desired.
> 
> I sincerely hope I was (and am) able to do the portrayal of these conditions justice. I can only be so sure about the true accuracy of a few, for I only experience a handful of them myself. Such as depression, social and general anxiety, OCD, ADHD, dysphoria, depersonalization, and autism spectrum disorder. I am also currently in the process of being screened for OCPD, if these give any insight to the struggles I have in creating a piece that feels adequate. It can be very difficult to find the motivation to create at all, let alone make something that lives up to my standards, but it is an amazing feeling to have others interact with it!
> 
> If you have any of the conditions in this story, I encourage you to reach out and give me tips! Even if it is one that I already mentioned suffering from, the information is more than welcome. Everyone has different experiences, after all. You can feel free to comment, and I would honestly love any input. Thank you!


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